


Choices

by Punk Pony (Windress)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BDSM, Drabble, F/M, Light BDSM, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Predicament Bondage, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windress/pseuds/Punk%20Pony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like all things, this is about control. The choice to give control freely, rather than having it taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> A Brief Drabble originally written as part of my headcanon into Iron Bull RP. Enjoy!

To Begin, Iron Bull approaches the inquisitor delicately.   
  
Like all things, this is about control, the choice to _give_  control, rather than have it taken.   
The Herald is a strong woman, and while she doesn’t necessarily like being the custodian   
of so many lives she struggles with relinquishing her authority, even to those she trusts.   
It is the result of a lifetime of lessons, Bull knows. Behaviors learned through a painful past.

Which is why, initially, Iron Bull allows the Inquisitor to make the choice herself….   
                                 ...even though he does not actually  _give her_  the choice to make it.

Confusing, perhaps. But you will see.   
  


It starts with the body.

Arms bound over the head, suspended from low hanging rafter beams  
shoulder blades drawn back in such a way that her breasts thrust forward,  
nipples peaked and hardening beneath the slow swipe of Bull’s tongue.

They’re positioned on the bed, the Inquisitor kneeling, suspended and straddling his lap.   
Only the determined crook of her elbows, taking up slack on the overhead rope,   
keeps her from sinking down onto his upthrust dick.  


She’s panting, damp tendrils of hair on her forehead, clinging to her throat.   
A strip of cloth muffles the Herald’s groans, but her eyes speak of defiance.  
Because, of course. This wouldn’t be worth it if it weren’t a  _challenge_ ….

The flush of resistance in her features spreads prettily down to the crest of each breast,   
and Iron Bull smiles, ever serene as his fingertips ghost gently along the underswell   
of each aching tit. Sweat drips between, down the line of her décolletage. 

Bull’s ferociously hard, grown to his full length some hours ago, and the head   
of his cock kisses lightly at Inquisitor’s swollen nether lips.   
                                                                       They’ve been at this a while…

And still she will not yield, despite that her body longs for his, has dripped and oozed   
her desire over his cockhead for an agonizing stretch of minutes… hours?…   
_...Maker_..   
The tease is made all the more electric by how Bull's glans nudges her entrance,  
how he guides the fat, mushroom-shaped tip in slow, torturous circles around   
her pulsing clit, slippery and lacking the friction to truly satisfy. The inquisitor’s biceps  
clench with the effort to hold herself suspended above him, but she’s gasping every time   
Bull's fingers stray to the sensitive bud between her thighs.   
  
He’s told her, all she needs to do is let go, let gravity and the will of Iron Bull have her.    
And yet it is  _this choice_  that is clearly so difficult for the Herald… This letting go.   
Even at her body’s insistence, she will not yield.   
  
Still, time is on Bull’s side. The Qunari knows that even the strongest warrior can only fight  
the pull of their own weight for so long. And the Herald of Andraste is still flesh and bone.  
Eventually, her arms tire, and despite her will, the trembling muscles begin to give.   
Her lean frame shakes and shudders as she slowly sinks down,  _down_. Moist sex parting   
over the head of his shaft, spongy heat engulfing him inch by inch as a pitiful moan breaks  
from the Inquisitor’s lips. Finally,  _Finally_ …

Within minutes, she is fully seated over his length, her inner walls clenching and fluttering  
around his cock. Iron Bull remains still, touch lifting to trace the Herald’s damp cheeks,   
banishing sweat and tears as he waits for her to adjust to the girth of him.   
  
He’s larger than she’s taken before, Bull can tell, and it’s neither boast nor blessing   
at times like these. When the Qunari feels the Inquisitor’s hips shift experimentally,   
he cups her cheek in his scarred palm, fingertips buried in the fall of her hair.   
He holds her face still, chin tipped down so his eye can meet hers.

                    “See? What did I tell you?" He croons,   
                     "You need only let go, Kadan.   
                                And you are so very  _good_ when you do…”

The Iron Bull pulls the gag from the Inquisitor's mouth with the edge of a thumb.  
He places a firm kiss on his Herald’s mouth, more teeth than lips,   
requiring her to open up so he can lick into the dark space behind her teeth.

Fingers closing firmly in the hair at the nape of her neck, the Ben-Hassrath leans back  
on his heels, gratified when the shifting angle of his cock inside her draws a gasp.   
  
                       “...Now. You will not fight me. Are we clear?”

This time, there is no waiting, only acquiescence. Iron Bull smiles.  
His free hand drags down the stretch of her back, closes on the Inquisitor’s hip   
in a grip that will leave a strange, three-fingered bruise. He drags her pelvis forward,   
seating her more completely into his lap.

                        “Good girl.”

                                              And, at last, Iron Bull  _moves_.


End file.
